Skeleton Island (Mrs. Bradley) Page 11

  “Remain,” said Laura, when she and Dame Beatrice were alone, “some rather significant facts. All Ferrars’ clothes, from the skin upwards, except for the socks, shirt, etc., were being worn by the criminal. You don’t, surely, if you’re on the run, stop to strip a dead man to the buff in order to get a change of outfit. Then there’s the biggish boat which appeared in the cove here, and which I myself spotted from the landing window. Most important of all, it seems to me, nobody could have known beforehand that the school was going to land up in a spot where a kidnapping was so likely to come off. So how are you going to start?”

  “By having a talk with your bird-watching acquaintance, Mr. Howard Spalding,” said Dame Beatrice. “He may have noticed something from his lighthouse gallery.”

  “We tried him, you know, and he hadn’t, but go ahead, and I wish you joy! Don’t say I haven’t warned you what he’s like. You’ll be lucky if you don’t come away possessing beady eyes and a beak.”

  “I already possess beady eyes and a beak,” said Dame Beatrice, pursing up her mouth in imitation of the latter, “so entertain no fears on my behalf. I suppose you noticed one rather significant thing which young Mr. Spalding mentioned when I interviewed him?”

  “You mean that he’d been previously acquainted with Ferrars? But it seems he had no idea that Ferrars was on the Staff here. Even when he ran into him it doesn’t seem to have made much impression.”

  “Quite so. Ah, well, we must wait and see what my interview with the older Mr. Spalding will produce. I should wish you to accompany me. You will form a valuable link. Have you any objection?”

  “Anything you say. When do we go?”

  “The sooner the better. The child must be traced. You say the lighthouse is not on the telephone?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “All the better. We will take the household by surprise. Not a word to young Mr. Colin. I will arrange with Mr. Eastleigh for you to be released from all your duties whilst I am working on his behalf.”

  “I shall be popular with the rest of the Staff,” said Laura, grinning. “It means that some unfortunate blighter will have to take on my classes and lose his free periods, unless Mr. Eastleigh looks after them himself.”

  This, it turned out, was what the headmaster proposed to do. His method was to set the boys some written work, remain in the room until every child was busy, remark curtly that he expected silence and concentration, and then retire to his sanctum and get on with his own jobs. As he was held in considerable awe, this plan worked well for a couple of days, after which Old Adam resumed its healthful, uninhibited sway, as the headmaster had assumed would be the case. He was unperturbed and merely expressed to his wife the hope that Dame Beatrice would soon be able to dispense with Laura’s services.

  “You tell me,” said Dame Beatrice to Laura, “of two facts which may be of considerable importance.” They were driving out of the hotel gateway. “First, I have high hopes that Mr. Spalding—I propose hereafter to refer to him as Mr. Howard in order to distinguish him from his son, Mr. Colin—that Mr. Howard is not so intent upon his bird-watching as to be unaware of what there is to see on the island apart from birds and the stars.”

  “That’s right,” said Laura. “In other words, if he didn’t see Ferrars on the day F. disappeared, the inference is that Ferrars wasn’t anywhere where he could be spotted from the lighthouse gallery. Howard seems to be alert to all shipping and was also well aware of Colin’s sneaking movements outside the lighthouse after the love-making—or row, whichever it was—with his stepmother. That’s one fact, all right. What’s the other one?”

  “That this young school-master, Mr. Ferrars, who seems to have vanished at approximately the same time as the child Manoel, was known to the Spaldings before they came here.”

  “Not all that well. Colin says Ferrars was a very big boy when he himself was a rather small one.”

  “They were on a Mediterranean cruise together.”

  “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “I understand from you that Colin thinks so, but, as one personable woman sitting in unbiased judgment on another, would you consider Mrs. Spalding to be generally attractive to young men?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I can’t think why she married a stick-in-the-mud like Howard. I should have thought she could have done ever so much better for herself.”

  “Is Mr. Howard a wealthy man, would you suppose?”

  “I’ve never thought about it, but, now that I do, I shouldn’t think he is anywhere near the bread-line. That’s a Rover car, and, in these days, a Mediterranean cruise for three people isn’t exactly cheap. Then, he’s rented this lighthouse for a year, which means (as he’s taken it fully furnished) that he must have a home somewhere else, one supposes. Colin is ex–public school and going to Oxford next year, Fiona is beautifully dressed, and her pearls, if I am any judge, are real and so are the diamonds and rubies in the coat-brooch she wears…”

  “Then perhaps we have some explanation of an otherwise incongruous situation.”

  “A pretty ordinary explanation, too. I wonder how long they’ve been married?”

  “My experience suggests to me that it cannot be very long.”

  “Oh? How do you deduce that?”

  “Use your intelligence, child. If Colin had been brought up from childhood with this young woman, it is unlikely (although not, of course, impossible) that he would be violently in love with her now. He must have been, I would venture to say, not younger than fifteen or sixteen when the marriage took place.”

  “I see. Yes, that sounds reasonable. She can’t be more than thirty now, and Colin is nineteen, going on for twenty. To go back to what we were saying, you mean that, if Colin has fallen a victim to her charms, to employ the well-worn phrase, there’s no reason why, on that Mediterranean cruise, Ferrars should not also have made a pass or two. Is that it?”

  “We must not theorise too soon, or argue ahead of our data.”

  “Where do you suppose Ferrars is, then? Hidden away in the linen cupboard?”

  Dame Beatrice did not answer this frivolous question. She remarked instead:

  “We come back to the fact that the convict was wearing Mr. Ferrars’ underclothes. That would seem to indicate that Mr. Ferrars had discarded them.”

  “Wanted to change his known image. You can’t go about snitching wealthy parents’ important offspring and still remain in the guise of an inoffensive young prep. school master. He would naturally discard his undergarments because they would have laundry-marks, and so forth, by which he could be identified. I dare say that by this time he’s wearing a walnut-stain make-up and sideburns. Another thing, remember, is the fact that Ferrars, although a science master, was the Guy Fawkes of that school in Kent. But for him, Mr. Eastleigh would never have had to bring the boys to this island, with its many facilities for making a clean getaway by sea.”

  “I have not observed these ‘many facilities.’ Point them out,” said Dame Beatrice.

  “Where do you think Manoel is, then?”

  “We may know more about that when I have talked with Mr. Howard.”

  “But it was after dark when Manoel disappeared. Howard couldn’t have seen him leave the school. He hadn’t even seen Ferrars by daylight.”

  “I appreciate that, of course. Oh, well, we must find out what we can.”

  “If you don’t believe Manoel went off with Ferrars, who did take him away, then?”

  “The police may be right, you know. This need not be a case of kidnapping. The child may have absconded.”

  “To get to a Roman Catholic church?”

  “There could be less likely reasons. He must have been bitterly disappointed when Mr. Eastleigh not only broke his promise to him, but actually, on his own admission, forgot about it.”

  “And you really think he may simply be A.W.O.L.? After all, the kid is only nine years old.”

  “An irrational and adventurous age. I have in my files case
-notes of several such incidents. In one, a mentally-retarded girl of nine left her school during the dinner-hour and, by imposing upon complete strangers, made her way from a London suburb to Waterloo station and from there to Poole, in Dorset. From Poole railway station she walked to a village twelve miles away to visit an aunt of whom she was fond. She was very soon traced, as it happened, because the aunt wrote to the parents to ask why they had sent Maisie without notice and without luggage.”

  “Good gracious me! And people just paid her fare and saw her through?”

  “Apparently. I had another case of a boy of the same age who drove away an unlocked car and took it to Harwich and stowed himself away on a cross-Channel steamer in order to get (as he thought) to America to become a cowboy. I could quote other instances, all within the age-group of eight to eleven years.”

  “And, according to my spies, young Manoel was in unlawful (according to school rules) possession of a fair amount of money. Well, well! Where would he make for? The Channel Islands?”

  “It is not possible to say, but the police can be trusted to find him if he has absconded, particularly as that appears to be their theory.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going to look for him myself. If he isn’t found by the time term ends, I rather think I will, if you don’t mind.”

  “You are not likely to succeed where the police have failed.”

  “Don’t you believe it! I know this kid. Rum, self-contained little object, very secretive. If he’s really on the run, I bet I can track him down before the police get so much as a smell of him.”

  Dame Beatrice changed the subject.

  “I wonder whether Mr. Howard is up on his balcony?” she said.

  This was not the case. They found Fiona in the living-quarters, partaking of mid-morning coffee and biscuits. Laura introduced Dame Beatrice, who came at once to the reason for the visit.

  “Oh, dear!” said Fiona. She was pale and her eyes looked heavy for want of sleep. “Howard isn’t here, and I don’t think I can tell you anything which would be of any help. Do I understand that the boy was under the supervision of Colin when he disappeared from the school? Even so, that doesn’t make Colin in any way responsible for what has happened to him, does it?” She spoke jerkily. It was easy to see that she was under extreme nervous tension.

  “When may we expect to find your husband at home?” Dame Beatrice enquired.

  “Goodness knows! He is off on one of his bird-watching expeditions. It might be days before he gets back. Why do you want to see him, did you say?”

  “We wondered whether he saw anything of the boy from his position on the lighthouse gallery, that is all.”

  “How could he see anything of him? It was dark when the boy left the school, wasn’t it? Is my poor husband expected to have cat’s eyes, or to operate a searchlight?”

  “It is scarcely likely that the boy was able to leave the island that night if he was alone,” said Dame Beatrice, “and the police theory at present is that he was alone, and has merely run away from school. They will hold to this opinion until it is disproved, but, no doubt, will also keep the possibility of a kidnapping in mind.”

  “Well,” said Fiona, in dogged but weary tones, “I would help if I could, but I can tell you nothing, and I am sure that, if my husband were here, he would say the same. We have seen nothing of the boy, nothing at all, so far as I know.”

  “So far as you know?”

  “Oh, there are several children belonging to the lighthouse keepers and the fishermen’s cottages. I would not undertake to tell one child from another. In any case, the police must have combed the entire neighbourhood. I mean, they would do, wouldn’t they, for anyone who’s missing?”

  “There happens to be another missing person,” said Dame Beatrice.

  “Another?” There was no doubt of Fiona’s nervousness now. Laura stared at her, knowing that she must have heard from Colin of Ferrars’ absence from the school.

  “I believe he was at public school with your son,” said Dame Beatrice. “I refer to a young man named Ferrars.”

  “Oh, yes, but they hardly knew one another at school. There is a difference of four or five years in their ages. There’s nothing to connect him with Colin,” said Fiona wildly.

  “I understand, though, that they met on a Mediterranean cruise after Mr. Ferrars had left school.”

  “I can’t see the point in all this,” said Fiona, with the pettish anger of the badly frightened. “What has the cruise to do with Ronald’s disappearance? Ten to one, he and that little boy have gone off together. I can’t see how our previous acquaintance with Ronald—it was, in any case, very slight—can have anything to do with his disappearance or that of the child. They must have gone off together. Ronald was always very irresponsible, that I can tell you.”

  “Has Mr. Ferrars been to visit you since you have been here?”

  “Yes, Colin brought him over when neither of them was on duty at school tea. It was a flying visit. They had to be back to take preparation and see the boys to bed.”

  “Did you recognise Mr. Ferrars again? I do not know how long it would be since you had seen him.”

  “Oh, we went on the cruise when Colin was sixteen. It was, to be precise, our honeymoon, but we had to take Colin along.”

  “So that would have been…?”

  “Four years ago this next July,” said Fiona. “I hardly recognised Ronnie when he called here. He had filled out and seemed a man, not the boy I remembered.”

  “But you did recognise him?”

  “Oh, not until Colin introduced him, and he mentioned things which had happened on the cruise, and remembered that Colin was afraid to climb up inside the mast with him.”

  “I wonder,” said Dame Beatrice, changing the subject with some abruptness, “whether, Mrs. Spalding, you would be kind enough to allow me to climb to your gallery and find out how much of the island can be seen from the top of the lighthouse tower?”

  “Why, certainly, if it will help in any way. What about you, Mrs. Gavin? Will you go too?” Fiona’s relief at the change of subject was obvious.

  “Oh, I’ve been up before. I’ll stay down here and keep you company,” said Laura, who had received a signal from her employer. “Don’t stay up there too long in this wind,” she added, to Dame Beatrice.

  “It’s always windy in this place,” said Fiona, when the other had gone. “I hate it here. I’ll make some fresh coffee so that Dame Beatrice can have a hot drink when she comes down.”

  “Good idea,” said Laura. “Can I do anything to help?’

  “No, I don’t think so. I do hope she won’t stay up there too long. A good thing Howard isn’t with her. You know what he is when he starts talking.”

  “Yes, I do. I nearly froze to death. Have you ever been up there?”

  “Yes, I went up once on my own. It was after the police had been. I wanted to find out exactly what could be seen from that gallery.”

  “A goodish bit, actually.”

  “Yes, it was idiotic of Colin to think he could sneak away from this place like that without being spotted. I’m sorry you were let in for that idiotic row between him and Howard. It was quite ridiculous, anyway. Colin is a nuisance at times, but, of course, I never allow him to make love to me. I had it out with Howard afterwards and I think I made him see sense. Well, come on in to the kitchen and talk to me while I make this fresh lot of coffee.”

  Up on the balcony Dame Beatrice scanned the surrounding countryside, walking slowly round the outside of the lamp room, sometimes into the tearing teeth of the wind, sometimes sheltered from it. The sea was a heaving mass of dirty, grey-green menace flecked with the foam of the Race. The hotel had the appearance of a child’s toy fort. The great sweep of the bay moved gently, but there was no sign of the little cove in which Laura had swum; the cliffs hid it from view. A tramp steamer moved, a black shape not much bigger than a match-box, across the horizon, and a lightish wash showed where the waves were breaking on t
he sandy beach of the mainland watering-place, but of anything helpful in the search for the child there was no sign at all.

  “Very nice,” she said, when she came down again. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Spalding.”

  “I hope you’ve seen all that you wanted to,” said Fiona.

  “What are the doors I passed as I went up and down?” Dame Beatrice enquired. “There seemed to be a number of doors opening off landings on the staircase.”

  “Doors? Oh, the tower is nothing but junk-rooms now. I believe they were the living-quarters when the lighthouse was in use as a dwelling for the keepers before this modern bungalow was added. I think that’s what Howard told me. But, really, I hate this place so much that I’m afraid I wasn’t interested.”

  “So, under the lamp room itself,’ went on Dame Beatrice, ignoring this last statement, ‘there would have been sleeping quarters and somewhere where one could cook and eat meals, I suppose.”

  “Oh, yes, there would be a bunk-room and a galley, and so on, as you say.”

  “And a store-room at the foot of the tower, no doubt. Have you been into these various rooms?”

  “No. I have had no reason to.”

  “So you have guessed at the junk? You have not seen it?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t care less about what’s in the place. Howard told me the tower was filled with junk, and that’s all I know.”

  “Well,” said Laura, when they had drunk the coffee Fiona had prepared and were on their way back to the school, “how many sea-birds have you spotted this morning?”

  “None, child.”

  “None? What did you find to do up there then? I take it there was no sign of Manoel? And what about Howard? How on earth did you manage to find out that he wouldn’t be here?”